The Dragonborn Comes
by HellfireSupremacy
Summary: Paarthurnax sends the Dragonborn on a quest: find the Mother of Dragons and teach her to wield the power of her thu'um. How will this change the balance of power in Westeros, and what does it mean for Daenerys?
1. Epic Destinies

THE DRAGONBORN COMES

(Chapter 1: Epic Destinies)

He came upon the Dothraki like a lion amongst lambs. From where, none could say. Some said that he had ventured forth form the darkest dark of the shadowlands. Others said that he was a demon raised from hell, sent by the gods to punish the world for its wickedness. Others still said he hailed from lands unknown across the uncharted seas; lands where gods did battle and stranger creatures then men played the game of thrones. Never did he kill a man unprovoked. But those who gave him fight never lived to speak of their folly. Witnesses were quick to spread tales of what they saw. Or what they thought they saw…

…It was said that he never removed his armor, even in the midday heat of the Red Wastes.

…It was said that his armor was crafted from metals and magics unknown; deepest black, yet always aglow, and spined and spiked like some great thorny beast.

…It was said that men struck by his mace instantly burst into flames.

…It was said that he could steal souls and feed them to his terrible cudgel.

…It was said that he could speak the dragon's tongue and breathe fire.

…It was said he could walk on water.

…It was said that he had walked through fire, but did not burn.

…It was said that he could heal the most grievous of wounds with his touch.

…It was said that he knew more of alchemy and enchantments then the most learned of masters.

…It was said that he could tear a host of warriors to pieces with a shout.

…It was said that he could not die, because he was not a mortal man.

Everywhere he went the people whispered: _"Who is this man who brings the mightiest of Khal's to heel with the power of his voice, and wields sorceries of which the maegi know not?_

And it was said that always he asked the same question when he chanced upon a band of horseman: "Where is Khal Drogo?"

West, west, and further west the Dragonborn ventured. From the summit of High Hrothgar to the crossroads at old Rorikstead. From the old crossroads to the imperial harbor of Solitude. And then further west still…

_"As west as west can go, across the great sea, in lands uncharted by the brood of Ysgramor. There you will find the child of destiny. Silver of hair. Fair of skin. Strong of spirit. Blood of our blood." _Paarthurnax had instructed. _"Teach her as I have taught you, so that she may grow in wisdom and in power. Her thu'um is strong."_

So had spoken the dragon who sits atop the Throat of the World. And so the dragonborn had set out upon his quest. West, west, and further west…

From the port of Solitude across the great sea, to lands beyond Skyrim and the empire's reach. To wilderness of ash and shadow. To kingdoms of wizardry and witchcraft. Across a great red wasteland, where behemoth skulls rose above shifting sands and brave men dared not tread.

West, west, and further west, to the domain of tall grass and rapacious horsemen. There he learned a name: Khal Drogo. The one Paarthurnax sought had been sold to the horselord as a child bride.

"Find the Khal and you will find the girl," a crone had told him in Vaes Dothrak. A lengthy search had led him to the city beneath The Mother of Mountains; there he thought he might find some answers. He had not left disappointed. "But be warned…Drogo loves her, and she is with child. He will see your advance as an insult. He will give you fight."

_Let him try,_ the Dragonborn thought. Beneath his twisted daedric full helm, he smirked an unseen smirk. But some things were better left unsaid, he knew. And so he simply asked "Where is Khal Drogo to be found?"

"In the lands of the sheep-men, beyond the Mother of Mountains," the crone answered. "His _Khalasar _rides to claim its plunder. Follow the trail of tears, and Khal Drogo will not be far behind."

He thanked the crone for her kindness with gifts of gold and enchanted jewelry, and a potion to ease the brittleness in her old bones. And then he was again on his way. In the plundered lands of the sheep-men—their homes burnt, their herds slaughtered, and their women ravaged—he heard another story.

"Khal Drogo is dead," a young shepherd with dirt in his hair and summer in his eyes told him. "Slain by a witch's curse, they say; his is _Khalasar_ is dispersed. A man who never knew defeat in battle felled by a women's trickery. Strange tale, isn't it?"

"What of his bride?" the Dragonborn inquired. If Drogo was dead, it could mean that she would be easier to get to. It could also mean that she had died with him…

"That's a stranger tale still," the shepherd chewed on a stump of grass and spit. "They say that when Khal Drogo died, the girl made him a grand pyre and took her place beside him inside the fire. The fire reached her, but she did not burn. _Dragon's blood_, it's been whispered. Fire could not burn her because she had dragon's blood. A fool's tale to be sure; such things do not exist in this world. It is known."

"It is known," a chorus of agreement rang out among his kinsman.

_Never has a truer tale been told by a man who knows so little of what he speaks_. But again…some things were better left unsaid. Words were a terrible thing to waste, after all. Especially the words of one who wielded the power of The Voice. And so again the Dragonborn simply asked "Where is the girl to be found?"

"Why the fuck should I tell you?" the shepherd spat again.

"I can reward you with gold if you tell me what I want to know…" the Dragonborn said evenhandedly. And without any change of tone he continued "…or I can rip out your still-beating heart and feed your soul to _Dragonforce_." He patted the hilt of the sinister spiked mace glowing at his side for emphasis.

"She leads the remnants of her husband's _Khalasar _across the Red Waste, towards the Great City of Qarth," the shepherd gulped and his tanned southern skin went ghost white. "Please don't kill me…"

"Well done," the Dragonborn spoke with a tone that said '_you're lucky I don't_.' He produced a small pouch of gold and flung it at his reluctant informant with enough force to stagger the poor boy. "Some coin for your trouble."

_Best he learns now not to wag such a bold tongue in front of dangerous strangers. That WILL get him killed one day, _the Dragonborn thought but did not say. The message had already been sent, and words were such a terrible thing to waste…

And again he was off. Into the Red Waste. Through the Behemoth's Bones. Across the Shifting Sand. He came upon them in the ruins of a dead city; the 'remnants of a _Khalasar_' the shepherd had spoke of little more than women and babes and men not fit to hold a sword. _Sorry remnants indeed_. The trail of a blood-red comet had led him straight into their midst; a trail he suspected they too had followed. _A most potent omen_, the Dragonborn recalled seeing the same sign in the firmament the day his head had been on the chopping block in Helgen. _A sign of things to come._

It was true…always the blood of the dragon held an epic destiny. Tiber Septim's had been to found an empire and ascend to heaven as mighty_ Talos;_the man who became a god. His own had been to slay Alduin—the dragon set adrift on the currents of time—whose return heralded the end of the world. What greatness was this girl fated to achieve? He couldn't help but wonder.

He found her in a garden of figs and pomegranates; a black hatchling perched on her shoulder and an old knight by her side eying him warily. _He thinks I mean to do her harm…or fears it at the very least. This one is cautious. _

The girl herself couldn't have been older then 15, but her eyes held the ferocity of a woman full grown. She did not appear to be with child, as the crone had told him, though swollen breasts suggested that she had been very recently. That could mean a number of things.

_Silver of hair. Fair of skin. Strong of spirit. Blood of our blood. _There was no doubt to be had. She was the one.

"You are the one they call the Mother of Dragons?" the Dragonborn asked even though he already knew the answer. If she truly had The Voice, he would hear it in her own words. Paarthurnax had said that her thu'um was strong…

"I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen; Blood of the Dragon." her voice was resolute and regal and betrayed no hint of weakness or hesitation. "To whom am I speaking?"

"A man with no name, only a purpose," he spoke truthfully and repeated his master's words. "I have come so that you may grow, in wisdom and in power."

"And why should I need a nameless man's help to grow in wisdom and in power?" she regarded him with suspicion. "Who sent you?"

"The dragon who sits atop the Throat of the World."

"Why does he want to help me?"

"Because he knows what you are…" the earth trembled and the air peeled with thunder from the force of his thu'um as he spoke the word, **"…**_**DOVAHKIIN**_**!"**


	2. Words of War

THE DRAGONBORN COMES

(Chapter 2: Words of War)

"News from my birds across the Narrow Sea," Varys fluttered into the queen's chambers. Cersei paid him little notice. She was with drink; her face flushed with wine and her thoughts elsewhere.

"Stannis marches on King's Landing, Jaime is captive to the northern banners, and you trouble me with reports from across the Narrow Sea?" Her words were cold as ice, and yet they quivered beneath the burdens of the realm and a mother's worry.

_Even the coldest ice shows its cracks under pressure, _the eunuch thought_. _But he said only "For your eyes only, my queen," and produced a scroll under seal.

Cersei read wordlessly, then read again to be sure that she had read correctly, then for a moment said nothing. Then finally balled the scroll in an angry fist and hissed "…nonsense… " as she tossed the crumbled parchment into hearth-fire.

"The rumors persist..." Varys insisted.

"Rumors of a man who breathes fire and kills with a shout!?" the queen would hear nothing of it. "Last time it was the birth of dragons!"

"Those rumors persist as well. Rumors so persistent are seldom wrong."

"Horselord's superstitions; all of it," the queen scoffed. "Show them a pyromancer's trick, and they think they've seen a drake."

"Pyromancer's tricks do not shake the walls of Storm's End," Varys would not relent. "The shout was heard from the Tower of Lord Penrose to the halls of Qarth; all of Essos speaks of it."

"And what would you have me do?" Cersei poured another glass of sweet wine and swirled her goblet as she considered.

She put no stock in the whisperings of Dothraki savages, but Lord Penrose was another matter altogether. If nobleman and savage were telling the same tale…could there be a grain of truth to it? It was a strange tale; unbelievable by all accounts. But the girl was a Targaryen. Accounts of her house's rise to power were stranger still, and the proof of them was burnt into the histories of the Seven Kingdoms. There was a truth that could not be ignored in the towers of Harrenhal, melted like so many wax candles.

"Strike while you still can," Varys counseled. "They must sail to reach Westeros. At sea they will be most vulnerable. They've yet to leave the Red Waste; our swiftest ships can reach the Narrow Sea before they come to port. Sink them mid-cross and let the Drowned God claim them."

"Sink them mid-crossing?" Cersei laughed and drained her goblet. "With what? The ships we don't have, and would be using against Stannis if we did?"

"Twenty ships sit docked in the breakwater. If we could spare but three…"

"We can't." Cersei said decisively.

"Three ships will not be the difference between a defense and a sack. Stannis's fleet outnumbers our own 10 to 1. If he is defeated, it will not be on the breakwater," Varys disagreed. "Here, three ships are useless. But between the Hook Coast and a Targaryen homecoming, they may make all the difference."

"All the difference or none…" Cersei saw no wisdom in the eunuch's counsel. "Stannis is close. And yet you speak to me of problems far away. They'll be nothing left to protect from a Targaryen homecoming if Stannis takes King's Landing. Or have you forgotten…he means to murder my son and steal his crown…"

"Whatever force Stannis has mustered can be repelled by your lord father." Varys spoke more plainly and more truthfully then was his custom. _The queen is no mood for games, but perhaps for once in her life she will be moved by truth._ "But if Targaryen's heir returns to Westeros with the power of dragons, there will be no stopping her. The realm will burn."

"My lord father is fighting his own war. Or have you forgotten that too?"

"Lord Tywin has always picked his battles wisely," Varys assured. "The Stark boy has been a thorn in his side, but if King's Landing were to come under siege, he would not put his pursuit above the defense of the realm."

Would he really? While Jaime was still the Stark's captive? Cersei would make no such assumptions.

"If Targaryen's heir returns to Westeros with the power of dragons, there will be no stopping her," Varys repeated with a sternness that rarely crept into his voice.

"Enough of this…" Cersei poured herself another goblet of wine and waved the eunuch away. "King's Landing is about to come under siege by sea, and you counsel me to send away my three best ships on a whisperer's whim. Speak no more of it, and if my wretched brother put you up to this, tell him I'm not so big a fool as he thinks."

"As you say, my queen," Varys fluttered out of her chambers and made for the Tower of the Hand.

"For your eyes only, my lord hand," he spoke as he gave Tyrion Lannister a scroll identical to the one he had just given to the queen. Tyrion took it, read it with a puzzled look, made the ponderous face of a man lost in thought, and read it again.

"Do you believe it?" he finally asked when he had taken it all in. If even half of the reports from Essos were true…

"Which parts, milord?"

"All of it," Tyrion shivered. He recalled the day he had walked The Wall and peered off the edge of the world. The nameless fear that had gripped him; the sense that old and terrible powers still stirred beyond the Seven Kingdoms. "The dragons. The stranger from the east. The shouts."

"Too many birds sing the same song…" the eunuch reflected. "Shouts that kill? A likely fib. A mace that burns flesh and devours souls? The Dothraki have been known to embellish. And yet today there is a man from the east who so terrifies them that they tell these stories, when yesterday they did not...

"…and that man is with the Targaryen girl, teaching her his art." Tyrion finished. _Gods be good…as if_ _the Starks and the Baratheons weren't enough…_ "Robert had the right of it. We should have slit her throat when we had the chance."

"Robert was most adamant about it," Varys recalled. "The whole of the King's Council agreed; she was far too dangerous to be left alive. Only Ned Stark protested. But ohhhh, how he protested, on his honor. He shamed the king that day…"

"…shamed him so that he recanted on his deathbed," Tyrion smirked. The situation was not yet so desperate that he couldn't appreciate the irony. "Ned Stark, you noble old fool. Your honor may yet be the death of us all."_  
_

* * *

"_**OS-RAH!**_"

Daenerys shouted the words of power, and Khal Orro fell from his horse. Or what was left of Khal Orro, after the force of her thu'um struck him.

_"Victory, Khaleesi, Mother of Dragons! Vicotry!" _the cries rang out all across the Sea of Grass. Already Daenerys wore 3 bells in her braid of Dothraki fashion; one for each Khal she had slain in battle and each _kalasar_ she had claimed in the name of the dragon. Already her _Kalasar_ was close to 100,000 strong_._

Tonight she would add a fourth bell to her braid, and add 28,000 Dothraki warriors to her host.

_She is learning fast,_ the Dragonborn admired his pupil.

_He is making her monstrous,_ Sir Jorah Mormont watched in dismay.

When Daenerys spoke to her people, she spoke with the voice of a dragon. And she said:

"_You will know a glory that no Khalasar before you has known! You will ride wooden horses across the poison water and ravage lands that no Khal has ever ravaged! You will kill men in iron suits and tear down stone houses! And you will give me seven kingdoms! You will give me the iron chair that my father sat upon!"_

"A good speech," the Dragonborn would later tell her.

"The words were not entirely my own," Daenerys admitted. "This is what my husband promised, before the sickness took him."

"He couldn't have delivered it half as well."

"You didn't know Khal Drogo…"

"Indeed…" the Dragonborn eyed her over.

He could see why Khal Drogo had thought her a good purchase; Dothraki used their women only for pleasure, never for war. The girl was not as lean or as muscled as he would have liked, but her body was strong enough to receive his training. She had withstood his thu'um and called out her own. And although she was completely inept with armor and weapons, she showed great potential as a mage. Already she had learned to throw fireballs, create magic shields, and heal minor wounds.

"So where do you go from here?" the Dragonborn asked. "You have your army. Now what of ships?"

"I will need many to host my Khalasar," Daenerys realized. "More than can be found in any of the cities we've passed so far…"

"Qarth has hundreds," the Dragonborn suggested. "And very little to stop you from taking them…"


End file.
